The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 62: Chapter 62 - Practice

By the time school ended, Roxie had regretted her cafeteria decision exactly once.

Only once.

And that was because Angela had screamed, ”SHE’S DOING SPORTS FOR LOVE,” in the hallway like a person with no survival instincts.

Other than that?

Roxie was fine.

Actually, no.

She was better than fine.

She was annoyed.

Bianca Reeves had really stood in a bathroom and acted like Roxie Jones should be grateful Zac Prescott looked at her.

That was funny.

Stupid funny.

Roxie had spent years climbing Briarwick’s food chain with eyeliner, cheer counts, clean ponytails, and a personality strong enough to make girls follow her even when they hated her. She was cheer captain. She was on the posters. She was the girl freshmen stared at during pep rallies and tried to copy by October.

At home, she was Roxxane with a broken window and a mother who chose Steve. At Briarwick, she was Roxie Jones. Cheer captain. Poster girl. A problem.

Bianca wanted to act like Roxie was some sad little charity case at Zac’s table?

Please.

If Zac Prescott wanted to look, he could look.

If Bianca wanted to suffer, she could do that privately.

So when Zac leaned against the lockers after final bell and said, ”Practice field. Ten minutes,” Roxie gave him the exact look he deserved.

”Wow,” she said. ”Bossy already?”

His mouth curved. ”You said you wanted me to coach you.”

”I said you could coach me. Different energy.”

”Do you always make everything difficult?”

Angela appeared beside Roxie, clutching her books to her chest with the emotional intensity of a drama club understudy. ”I support this.”

Karen looked at Roxie. ”Please don’t get tackled for male validation.”

Roxie pointed at her. ”First of all, I validate myself.”

”Terrifying but true.”

”Second, I’m not getting tackled. It’s flag football.”

Zac’s eyes moved over her face. ”You sure?”

There.

That little careful tone.

Roxie’s irritation sharpened.

He had been doing it all day. Watching her too closely. Speaking softer than usual. Looking like one wrong movement from her might send him into crisis management mode.

Part of her liked it.

A bigger, louder part of her hated it.

Because if he treated her like glass, she might start feeling like glass. And Roxie Jones did not spend this much on mascara just to emotionally shatter before practice.

”I’m sure,” she said.

Zac studied her for another second.

”Okay.”

Her eyes sharpened.

Zac’s expression shifted. ”Roxie, I’m just—”

”Being weird.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. ”I know what happened. I was there. You were there. But if you coach me like some kind of glass, I’m leaving.”

His face went serious.

”I don’t want pity coaching,” she said. ”I don’t want soft voice coaching. I don’t want you acting like I’ll collapse if someone runs near me. I’m cheer captain. I get thrown into the air by girls who still think lip gloss counts as hydration.”

”You want real coaching?” he asked.

”Yes.”

His voice dropped. ”Then don’t be late.”

Roxie’s pulse jumped.

He looked different.

The part of Zac that made Friday nights feel bigger than school. The part that did not flirt or smirk or lean against lockers for attention. The part that saw a field and immediately started reading angles, bodies, timing, space.

Roxie hated how attractive competence was.

It felt anti-feminist.

Ten minutes later, the practice field looked like a disaster with school spirit.

Senior girls were scattered everywhere, stretching, taking selfies, and blaming the grass for every dropped football.

”Ladies!” Mason shouted. ”Welcome to the sacred sport of football.”

Dylan raised one hand. ”It’s flag football.”

Roxie scanned the field.

Kendall had joined, of course, because God forbid an event happen at Briarwick without her personally inserting herself into the center of it. She stood near the sideline with Bianca, Lily, and two other homecoming nominees, all of them dressed like powderpuff practice was a campaign event.

Bianca wore a fitted white top, black leggings, and a smile that made Roxie want to throw a football at something expensive.

Lily leaned close to Bianca and whispered.

Bianca laughed.

Roxie smiled back from across the field.

Sweet.

Bright.

Violent in spirit.

Angela nudged her. ”Careful. Your murder smile is showing.”

”Good.”

Karen chewed her gum as she looked between Roxie and Bianca. ”I support emotional violence, but physical violence gets complicated on school property.”

Angela gasped. ”Growth.”

Karen shrugged. ”There are cameras.”

Public practice lasted exactly long enough for Roxie to understand that football players should not be allowed to teach anything without supervision.

Mason blew the whistle every eleven seconds until Coach Hayes threatened to make him eat it. All the football players were either flirting too hard or playing around.

Kendall drifted toward Zac’s group twice.

Zac redirected her twice without even looking impressed.

That was enjoyable.

Bianca watched from the bleachers with Lily, pretending she was not watching Zac watch Roxie.

That was more enjoyable.

Roxie ran drills with the others because she had an audience and a reputation to maintain. She caught one pass. Dropped one. Caught another. Corrected Angela’s footwork without thinking.

Zac barely joked during practice.

By the end of public practice, the field looked like a sports-themed sleepover had lost a fight. Girls were sitting in the grass. Someone was arguing about team colors. Kendall had somehow started discussing who should be captain of the senior team, which was embarrassing for everyone with ears. Bianca had given up pretending she was there for cardio and now sat with Lily near the bleachers, eyes flicking between Zac and Roxie.

Coach Hayes blew the whistle. ”That’s enough. Same time tomorrow. Sign-ups close Wednesday.”

Girls scattered toward bags, cars, and drama.

Angela collapsed dramatically near Roxie’s shoes. ”I thought I’d love this. Imagine that, me, being wrong.”

Karen stood over her with two water bottles. ”Yes, of course. How can Angela, the little saint, ever be wrong?”

Roxie bent over with her hands on her knees and tried to breathe normally.

Football was tiring.

Cheer was hard, obviously. Cheer was balance, timing, strength, trust, fear, sweat, pain, and smiling while your body questioned every life choice. But football had all this stop-start nonsense. Sprint. Turn. Think. Catch. Run again.

Very needy sport.

A shadow fell beside her.

”Ten more minutes,” Zac said.

Roxie looked up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed the bottle onto the bench.

”Fine.”

Angela sat up on the grass like someone had yanked her soul back into her body. ”Private coaching?”

Roxie pointed at her. ”Leave.”

Angela clutched Karen’s ankle. ”But I wanna see.”

Karen tugged her foot free. ”You want gossip.”

”Also true.”

Roxie narrowed her eyes. ”Angela.”

”Fine.” Angela stood, brushing grass from her shorts. ”But if he teaches you anything that involves his hands on your waist, remember your friends believed in you first.”

Zac looked away.

His ears went red.

Roxie saw it.

Karen grabbed Angela’s arm and dragged her toward the parking lot. ”Come on before you give more shitty suggestions.”

Angela shouted over her shoulder, ”USE YOUR CORE!”

The field emptied slowly, with laughter and car doors and girls calling across the grass.

Kendall passed with Marissa and Tori. Kendall glanced at Zac, then at Roxie, then smiled like she had already decided how to use this later.

Bianca’s eyes dropped to the football tucked under Roxie’s arm when she passed with Lily.

Look harder, babe. Maybe it would help with all your insecurities.

When the last group moved toward the parking lot, the field became too quiet.

The bleachers were empty. The sun had dropped lower behind the stadium. The air smelled like grass, sweat, and late October dust.

Zac walked to the thirty-yard line and turned.

”Ball.”

Roxie tossed it to him.

He caught it easily. ”How much football do you actually know?”

She crossed her arms. ”Enough.”

”Meaning?”

”Meaning I know when your offensive line is falling apart. I know when Coach Hayes calls a run because he doesn’t trust the pass. I know you tap your left thigh when you’re changing the play.”

Zac’s eyebrows lifted.

Roxie smiled. ”I cheer, Prescott. I’m not decorative.”

”I know that.”

Roxie stepped closer and stole the ball from his hands. ”Good. Then stop explaining football to me like I’m a mascot with lip gloss.”

His grin came out then, quick and warm, and Roxie felt something in her chest respond.

”Okay,” Zac said. ”You know the game from the outside. Now learn what it feels like inside the play.”

He stepped behind her.

Roxie’s whole body noticed.

Her pride immediately tried to slap her nervous system into behaving.

He had stood behind her during public practice, but that was different. Girls everywhere. Noise everywhere. Angela screaming like a national emergency.

Now it was just them.

Zac close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back.

”Grip,” he said.

Roxie looked down at the ball. ”I know.”

”Show me.”

She placed her fingers on the laces.

He leaned slightly over her shoulder.

His voice came near her ear. ”Better. But your wrist is tight.”

Zac reached around her, his hand covering hers on the ball. His palm was warm. His fingers moved hers into place with annoying confidence.

”There,” he said.

Roxie stared at their hands.

”Your ring finger anchors the grip,” he said. ”Index finger gives direction. Thumb supports, but don’t choke it.”

”Football sounds exhausting.”

”It is.”

”Yet you love it.”

He paused.

She felt it more than saw it.

”Yeah,” he said. ”I do.”

His hand stayed over hers for one breath too long.

Then he stepped away.

Roxie hated that she noticed the air cooling where he had been.

”Throw,” he said.

She faced the empty field. ”To who?”

”Me.”

He jogged backward about ten yards and lifted his hands.

Roxie threw.

The ball wobbled.

Badly.

It landed three feet short.

Zac looked at it.

Then at her.

He bent to pick up the ball, laughing under his breath. ”You’re throwing with your arm.”

”That is traditionally how throwing works.”

”Not if you want it to go where you aim.”

Zac walked back to her and set the ball in her hands. Roxie sighed and spread her stance.

”No.”

She glared. ”I moved one inch.”

”And it was the wrong inch.”

”You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

He froze. His ears went red.

She froze, then turned back with fake confidence. ”I know.”

Zac cleared his throat, stepped in front of her and tapped the inside of her sneaker with his. ”Here.”

She shifted.

”Weight back.”

She shifted again.

”Shoulder here.”

His hand touched her shoulder.

Practical.

Then his other hand went to her waist.

She went still.

Zac’s hand paused.

His eyes moved to hers. ”Okay?”

There it was again.

But this time, it did not feel like pity.

It felt like permission.

Roxie could say no.

He would stop.

That made the yes feel different.

She nodded once. ”Okay.”

His hand settled more firmly at her waist and turned her slightly.

”Your hips are facing the wrong way.”

”You sound too invested in my hips.”

The regret on his face was immediate.

Roxie smiled slowly.

Zac closed his eyes. ”I heard it.”

”Did you?”

”Yes.”

”Do you want to rephrase?”

”No.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

His eyes opened, darker now.

”I said what I said.”

Oh.

Roxie’s smile faltered.

Zac noticed.

His hand was still at her waist. His thumb rested lightly against her shirt. Nothing wild. Nothing dramatic.

But goddamn, it was still enough to make the field feel smaller.

”Step,” he said, voice low. ”Turn. Throw.

They worked like that for a while.

Zac corrected everything. Her grip. Her feet. Her shoulder. Her follow-through. Her habit of looking at the ball after she threw it like she wanted to supervise its life choices.

When her throw wobbled, he made her do it again. When she rounded a route, he called it ugly. When she slowed before the catch, he told her she had quit before the ball got there, which made her so mad she caught the next three passes just to ruin his point.

Football Zac was unfairly attractive.

Zac stood several yards away with the ball in his hands.

”Ready?”

She gave him a look. ”Throw it.”

She ran.

One, two, three.

Plant.

Cut.

The ball came fast.

She caught it against her chest.

This time it did not just sting.

It felt good.

Zac’s face lit up.

”There you go.”

The praise hit harder because he meant it.

Roxie jogged back, trying not to smile.

They ran routes until Roxie’s legs started to burn and sweat stuck loose pieces of hair to her neck. She missed some. Caught more. Argued constantly. Zac gave back as good as he got.

Somewhere between the fourth slant and the second comeback route, Roxie stopped thinking about Bianca and her shitty home.

Completely.

Then he moved to flag work.

He stood in front of her with a belt of flags in his hand.

”Put this on.”

Roxie took it from him. ”I know how belts work.”

”Do you?”

She gave him a flat look.

He grinned.

She wrapped it around her waist, but the strap twisted behind her.

Zac tried very hard not to smile. ”Let me fix it.”

”I can fix it.”

”You’re making it worse.”

Roxie rolled her eyes. ”Fine. Fix it before I use it as a weapon.”

Zac stepped behind her.

His hands found the belt at her waist.

Roxie looked straight ahead.

The field was empty.

His fingers worked at the strap, untwisting it, pulling it snug against her hips. Practical again. Football again.

Her skin did not care.

”You good?” he asked.

”You ask that a lot,” Roxie said.

Zac’s fingers paused at her waist.

”Yeah,” he said quietly. ”I’m trying to get it right this time.”